Hannah grew up, sensing her mother’s fear, knowing she felt hunted, but never understanding why. She wondered why her mother kept a twisted lump of metal locked in a box set high on the mantel where Hannah couldn’t reach, yet had two shotguns, her Winchester, and a brace of pistols hanging by the door, as well as wearing a Colt everywhere she went. Instead of telling her the truth, Ma and Pa told her wild stories about outlaws and sorcerers and evil warlocks. Hannah was not impressed. She only wanted the facts.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for her mother’s nightmares. She’d wake up screaming and sobbing and had run out of the house a few times, grabbing her guns on the way and staring hard into the night, poised for a fight. Hannah knew that Aunt Abigail, for whom she was na
